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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28118082">The Tower</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/JhanaMay/pseuds/JhanaMay'>JhanaMay</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Arcana [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, M/M, season 10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:34:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,551</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28118082</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/JhanaMay/pseuds/JhanaMay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Mark of Cain is stripping away Dean's humanity. Sam will do anything to protect Dean, even if it means not protecting himself. </p>
<p>Set after The Executioner’s Song (10x14)</p>
<p>HEED THE WARNINGS - a more thorough description of the triggers is in the endnotes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Arcana [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1551187</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Tower</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The bunker corridors are creepy even when Dean isn’t hunting Sam with a hammer. Dim yellowed light casts shadows around every corner, and the labyrinth of long, skinny passageways amplifies every sound. Sam’s door closes behind him with a squeak, but his footsteps on the ancient tiles are muffled by his socks.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From the end of the hall, the screech of a chair scraping across the floor makes Sam wince. Dean’s footsteps—obvious in his heavy work boots—had echoed in the hallway outside Sam’s room a few minutes ago, carrying him toward the entrance level. It’s possible he’s headed to the kitchen for a midnight snack, but Sam wouldn’t bet on it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With every passing day, the Mark exerts a stronger and stronger hold on Dean. He’s never been known for being gentle or measured, but the violence is rising by the hour and he hunts almost constantly. It’s to the point that Sam can’t bear to watch him kill, but he’s terrified of what will happen if he doesn’t go along. Between massacring a houseful of people and the urge worsening after killing Cain with the First Blade, Sam doesn’t want to think about a civilian getting in Dean’s way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Going somewhere?” Sam says, padding into the war room. A zipped duffle bag sits on the map table, and Dean is shoving ammo into a second. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean squeezes his arm where the Mark is hidden by his shirt and grimaces. “Thought you were asleep.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was.” Sam sweeps his gaze over the bags. “You sure this is a good idea?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Probably not,” Dean returns with a laugh that’s half bitter and completely terrifying, “but I don’t have much choice.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course you do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean closes his eyes for a moment, and Sam could swear there’s black swirling in the normally green irises when he opens them. “If I don’t get out of here, I’m gonna lose my mind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam studies him, the dark circles under his eyes, the way his hands shake. Dean looks like he’s barely holding on. It’s only been two days since their last hunt, and rather than taking the edge off, it feels like each kill accelerates the effects. “I’ll go with you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” Dean opens and closes his fist on the side carrying the Mark.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not letting you go by yourself. Who knows what could—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean scoffs, the ugly sound chilling Sam to the bone. “Not letting me. You think you can stop me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean,” Sam says warily. He steps sideways and blocks the way to the garage. “At least let me be there to run interference. I’m not sure you can…” Sam trails off because he’s not sure how to say that Dean might kill the victims.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you can get in my way instead?” Dean swallows hard, and his face goes even more ashen. “If you—I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop. If I hurt you—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You won’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t know that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam shrugs one shoulder. “I can take care of myself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s getting worse. I could kill you.” Dean shoulders one duffle and picks up the other. “Get out of the way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Better me than some innocent person in the wrong place at the wrong time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean’s eyes flash with some unknown emotion and he growls. “Goddammit, Sam, don’t even say that. Now, get out of my way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam widens his stance and braces himself in the doorway. “You’re going to have to make me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For one long moment, Sam thinks maybe Dean will just give in. That he’ll drop the bag and let Sam take him back to his room. Maybe he’ll let Sam stay the night. He hasn’t let Sam sleep with him since the nightmares started, but maybe he’ll accept that they can fight this better together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean does drop the bag, but it isn’t to give in. He telegraphs just enough that Sam is able to twist to the side. Dean catches him with a glancing blow to the jaw rather than a solid punch to the side of the head. Sam’s jaw snaps shut with brain-rattling force, and Dean hits him again before his vision clears. The second punch drives Sam backward, a jab to the torso that nearly doubles him over. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam hates this, hates when it comes to blows as it so often does with them. Sometimes Sam wonders if their whole lives have been so steeped in violence that it’s the only way they know how to communicate. He lands his own punch to Dean’s ribs, knocking him off balance, then rushes forward, catching Dean around the waist and knocking him back into the map table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a horrible glint in Dean’s eyes, a wild ferocity that matches the growl that vibrates up from his chest when Sam blocks his next punch. The Mark is feeding off this, reveling in the violence and fueling Dean’s rage. In a moment of cold clarity, Sam realizes that if it goes on, Dean could actually kill him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So when Dean launches himself forward, Sam doesn’t try to overpower him. Instead, Sam grabs Dean’s wrist, shoves him back until his legs hit the map table, and slams their mouths together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At first, Dean claws at him, angry and snapping, then his mouth twists into a vicious snarl and he goes from pushing Sam away to dragging him closer. The kiss is just as violent as the fight had been. Dean forces Sam’s lips open, biting and invading Sam’s mouth with brutal force. Sam tastes blood and he’s not sure if it’s his or Dean’s. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam is torn between desperate lust, drugged by the taste of Dean’s mouth and the feel of his body after so long without, and a growing panic that he’s only traded one form of violence for another. Dean’s hands grip Sam’s hips with punishing force and he twists to flip them so Sam’s back is to the map table. He keeps shoving Sam backward until Sam has no choice but to let himself be hoisted up onto the table.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t let a single fucking thing go,” Dean growls, hands fisting in Sam’s t-shirt. “No self-preservation.” Pressure ignites a flare of pain where the fabric scrapes against Sam’s neck before the cloth gives way and tears diagonally across his chest. More pain swells and Sam’s breath catches in his throat when Dean leans in and latches his teeth into the muscle of Sam’s pec, right over his tattoo. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean,” Sam gasps. Shock, pain, and fear coalesce in a blinding moment of clarity. If the Mark hungers, maybe this will be enough to sate it. At least no one else will get hurt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut the fuck up,” Dean barks, hands already dropping to the waistband of Sam’s pajamas. He yanks them down, and when the fabric bunches under Sam’s ass, he growls and pulls harder, the fabric scraping a brush burn down the back of Sam’s legs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Every instinct tells Sam to fight, to get away, but Sam pushes it down and lets Dean drag him off the table and shove him to the floor. A jolt of pain radiates from Sam’s knees when they hit the unforgiving tile, but he swallows his yelp. Sam’s pulse thunders in his ears and his skin prickles in the chilled air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean fists one hand in Sam’s hair, holding him there even though Sam isn’t trying to get away. Sam’s scalp stings, and he’s sure that if he pulled back now, Dean would rip out an entire handful. With his other hand, Dean opens his jeans and pulls out his cock, already so hard it looks painful. He strokes himself a few times, the angry purple head glistening as it slides through his fist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A horrible mix of desire and panic spreads through Sam. On one hand, he’s come to love sucking Dean. The taste of him, the weight on his tongue, the noises Dean makes. On the other, Sam is sure this is going to hurt. A lot. He drags in a deep breath and steels himself when Dean yanks him forward by his hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You want me to stay so fucking bad, give me a good reason.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam winces at the pain in his scalp, but he doesn’t have a chance to do anything but open his mouth as wide as he can and try not to gag. Dean doesn’t let him acclimate at all, just shoves in deep in a hard, punishing thrust. His hands tangle in Sam’s hair to keep him pinned with Sam’s nose buried in the curls at the base of Dean’s cock and the length of it cutting off his air. Sam’s throat tries to work around the intrusion but all he can do is grasp at Dean’s legs and hold on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tries not to struggle, but white lights burst at the edges of his vision and Dean still isn’t letting him pull back to breathe. Tears pool in the corners of his eyes and run down his face and Dean still doesn’t let him go. Just when Sam isn’t sure he can hold the panic at bay, when years of training are scrabbling to the surface, Dean yanks him backward, giving him a chance to drag in a desperate breath.    </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That one moment is all he gets before Dean shoves in again. This time, he doesn’t pause. He pulls back out a few inches, and his grip shifts so he’s holding the sides of Sam’s head instead of the hair bunched at the top. Using the leverage to pull Sam forward at the same time as he thrusts, he sets a ruthless rhythm. Dean is eerily silent; the only sounds Sam hears are the pounding of blood in his ears and his own desperate breathing.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Agony dances across Sam’s scalp with every movement from where his hair is still tangled in Dean’s fingers. His throat spasms over and over as he tries to pull in as much oxygen as he can between each thrust and saliva runs down his chin. The slippery saltiness of pre-come coats his throat but doesn’t make the brutal onslaught any easier. This is nothing like the times they’ve done this before, and Sam isn’t sure how much longer he can last before his fight-or-flight instincts kick in and force him to try to stop Dean any way he can.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It doesn’t come to that, but Sam isn’t sure that’s a blessing. After a few more merciless assaults on Sam’s throat, Dean grunts and pulls the whole way out. He shoves Sam, releasing his hold on Sam’s hair, and Sam’s head glances off the edge of the map table. Pain blossoms behind his eyes, his stomach roiling with nausea, but he barely has a chance to react before Dean drags him to his feet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Always so worried about everyone else, aren’t you, Sammy?” Dean mocks, his voice an icy, emotionless void. He pushes Sam against the table face first with a hand on the back of Sam’s neck and kicks Sam’s legs apart. “When you really should be worried about yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sound of Dean spitting is all the warning Sam gets, and his entire body goes cold when the head of Dean’s cock nudges at his hole. Even he knows that’s going too far. Dean could do serious damage, and Sam will need to find a way to minimize Dean’s self-loathing when this is over. He can’t let this go beyond what is salvageable. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam plants his feet and twists, and the sudden movement catches Dean off guard after Sam has been completely compliant so far. “Dean, no, you have to at least use lube,” he says firmly, catching Dean’s wrist when he tries to grab Sam again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean’s laugh is ugly. “I thought you could take care of yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>me taking care of myself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean stares at him for a long moment, chest heaving and eyes narrowed, then he slowly crouches down to pull a bottle out of the end pocket of the duffle that had landed closest to the table. Satisfied, Sam turns back around and resumes the spread-eagle position on the table. He’s still sure what is about to happen will not be pleasant, but at least he can minimize the chance of permanent damage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While Sam waits for the snick of the cap, propped on his forearms and entire body on high alert, a trickle of something wet slides down his cheek. He swipes at it and comes away with fingertips sticky with blood. He spares a moment to hope he won’t need staples. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam doesn’t exactly relax when he hears the cap opening, but the worst of the tension abates. When Dean steps in again and presses his dick to Sam’s opening, the head is slick. Sam’s never enjoyed the burn of sex without prep the way Dean does, but this is one time he’s going to have to suck it up. Every muscle in his body wants to tense up as he waits for what will surely be more pain, but he forces himself to stay relaxed and open.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean isn’t gentle when he pushes inside. His cock breaches Sam’s body with a savage burn that takes Sam’s breath away. Sam pants through the long, vicious slide of Dean’s length inside him, mouth open and sucking in oxygen to keep from screaming. Dean doesn’t stop until he’s buried as deep as he can get, the metal edges of the zipper on the flaps of his jeans scraping against Sam’s ass cheeks. There’s a snarl and then Dean’s shirt lands in a pile on the far end of the table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam only has the barest moment of reprieve to acclimate to the fullness before Dean pulls out and shoves in again with a violent thrust. Even with what is probably a generous amount of lube easing the way, it feels like Dean is tearing him open. Every second or third thrust jabs his prostate, making Sam’s limbs go numb, but there’s no answering arousal inside him. His cock hangs limp between his legs. Sam doesn’t think he could get hard even if he wanted to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sudden searing pain drags a whimper from Sam’s throat as Dean rakes his nails down Sam’s back. Dean laughs and fucks into him harder, leaning over to slide one arm around Sam’s neck. He drags Sam up and back, his forearm cutting off the air again, and when Dean clamps his teeth into the muscle of Sam’s neck on the other side, it finally pulls out a scream.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s it,” Dean snarls, his breath hot against Sam’s ear. “Let me hear you. This is what you wanted, right? To be a martyr? To protect all the innocents from the big bad wolf?” He shoves his other hand between Sam’s legs, cupping Sam’s soft cock in a vise-like grip. “You don’t seem to be enjoying it very much, Sammy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam’s breath catches and it takes him a few tries to find his voice with the way Dean’s arm compresses his windpipe. “This isn’t for me,” he says, in a voice that trembles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean barks an ugly laugh and releases him, shoving him down flat on the table with his fist buried in Sam’s hair again. He plants the other hand on the table next to Sam’s face, and Sam could swear he sees the Mark flare red out of the corner of his eye. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If he thought Dean’s rhythm was brutal before, it’s no comparison to the way he pounds into Sam now. Sam’s vision goes spotty at the edges from pain and fatigue, and he takes a moment to worry about what will happen if he passes out. Will Dean even notice? Will he get frustrated that the game is over and leave when the Mark’s need for violence can’t be filled? Or will he keep going, keep fucking Sam’s battered, unconscious body? Both possibilities are chilling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, after what feels like hours of relentless assault, Dean’s thrusts lose their precision. His hips stutter, and with an ear-splitting roar, he shoves in hard one last time and fills Sam’s ass with his release. A maelstrom of relief, utter exhaustion, and desperate fear wash over Sam.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam waits, perfectly still, while Dean pants and grunts through his orgasm. Nothing happens for a long moment after Dean goes quiet. Dean is still buried inside him, but he’s motionless. Then his hand slowly releases its grip on the back of Sam’s head. Another moment of stillness, and then Sam winces as Dean’s cock is suddenly jerked from inside him. The sting of the withdrawal is almost as bad as the entry had been.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The grating screech of a chair being knocked over breaks the silence, and Sam gingerly starts to push himself up from the table. There’s a retching noise, and he turns his head to see Dean, face pale and eyes wide with shock, crouched next to the stairs, vomiting onto the floor. His jeans are still open, his cock hanging half-hard and shiny between his legs in a gruesome tableau. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It hurts to push himself upright, vertigo and the still-bleeding gash on Sam’s head almost as bad as the sting in his ass, but he drags himself to standing and takes a wavering step toward Dean. His brother curls in on himself, face blank with stunned horror, when Sam reaches for him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck, shit, no, fuck, no,” Dean mutters, and his left hand comes up to start clawing at the Mark. “Oh fuck, no, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry,” he continues, though he’s not even looking at Sam.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam grabs his wrist, and the force needed to drag Dean’s hand away from the Mark takes almost more strength than he has. “Stop, Dean. You’re going to hurt yourself,” Sam says, clamping his hand around Dean’s wrist. Dean’s entire body jerks like he’s been shot and then a racking sob tears through him. He continues to shake through a series of agonized, gasping breaths. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean fights him when Sam tries to put his arms around him, but after a brief battle of wills, he collapses into Sam. He throws his arms around Sam’s neck and scalding tears burn the scrapes and cuts on Sam’s chest and shoulders. Despite the stinging pain, the only sounds Sam makes are soft, gentle whispers and affirmations. He ignores the aches and pains, the blood on his face and the disgusting sensation of Dean’s come oozing out of him and down his thigh and focuses on trying to staunch the storm raging inside Dean.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At first Dean’s words are just rambling, but as the sobs lessen, they coalesce into exactly the bitter self-loathing Sam knew was coming. “I’m so fucking sorry. Fuck, I can’t—I can’t do this anymore. You need to get away from me. I’m a monster. I’m so sorry, Sammy. I’m so sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, Dean,” Sam murmurs, one hand coming up to stroke Dean’s sweaty hair away from his forehead. “It’s okay. I’m here. You’re okay. We’re going to be okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After the brutality of the encounter, it doesn’t take long for Sam’s muscles to start to complain. By then, Dean’s sobs have stopped and he’s gone silent. “Come on. We need to get cleaned up.” Sam tries to push himself upright, but Dean is a dead weight against him. “Come on, Dean, get up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After the second try, Dean helps him stand, and Sam waits, eyes averted, while Dean tucks himself in and does up his jeans. Sam guides him around where Dean was sick on the floor; they can clean that up later. With arduous, trembling steps, they make their way out of the war room and down the hall to Sam’s bedroom. Dean helps him inside, still silent. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they pass the sink in the corner, Sam catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His lower lip is split and blood smears away from the corner and across his jaw to merge with the line of red coming from his hairline. Bruises litter his face, shoulders, and upper torso, one around his neck already taking the shape of a handprint. As horrible as he looks, it’s no worse than how he’s come home from a hunt before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean settles him on the bed and takes a shaky breath before walking to the sink. He pulls out the first-aid kit, then turns to study Sam. A bruise darkens Dean’s jaw, but otherwise, he’s physically unscathed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emotionally and mentally is another story. Dean’s eyes are haunted, his face still pale and his breathing shallow, as if he’s on the verge of hyperventilating. He doesn’t meet Sam’s eyes when he says, “Can you make it to the shower?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam looks down, following Dean’s gaze, and sees that there’s blood smeared across his stomach as well. A scrape on his hip he hadn’t noticed slowly oozes and a series of bleeding scratches are furrowed into his abdomen. “Yeah, sure.” He tries to stand, and Dean is immediately there to help him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The walk to the shower room is farther than Sam really wanted to go, but he has to admit that the hot water on his skin feels better than it has any right to. Dean doesn’t remove his jeans, but he soaps a washcloth and steps right into the spray with Sam. Gently, he cleans the blood from Sam’s stomach, chest, and face. The water circling the drain runs red again when Dean smooths the cloth over his back, so he must have been bleeding there too. Once Sam is clean, Dean turns off the water and coaxes him into bracing himself on the wall with his legs spread. Gently, as if he’s afraid to touch Sam, Dean cleans him there, too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam isn’t sure what Dean uses from the first aid kit, but the sting fades as Dean gently probes around and inside Sam’s hole. He shivers when Dean presses a kiss to his lower back. “It doesn’t look like there’s permanent damage,” Dean whispers, his voice thick and ragged.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s good,” Sam manages, his own voice barely functional.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After Dean cleans all the scrapes and scratches with antiseptic and bandages the ones that need it, he checks the gash on Sam’s head. “Son of a bitch,” Dean breathes, and he goes still for several long moments. Just when Sam is trying to think of what to say to reassure him, Dean takes a deep breath and shudders. “I don’t think you need staples. The bleeding stopped.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam nods, the movement making the ache in his head worse. He lets Dean bundle him into a new pair of pajamas, a t-shirt, and a soft, well-worn hoodie that Sam is pretty sure is Dean’s. After, he sits on the bench near the long row of shelves and waits while Dean gets cleaned up himself. He dresses in a t-shirt, sweatpants, and another hoodie, and Sam swallows a sigh of relief. He’s not planning to go hunting dressed like that.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They don’t talk again until Dean settles Sam onto the bed in Sam’s room and turns to leave. “Did it help?” Sam asks, reaching for Dean’s wrist to stop the evasion he knows is coming.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean’s jaw works for a moment. “The Mark is quiet, for now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So it worked.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a mix of fury and despair in Dean’s eyes when they snap to Sam’s face. “You intentionally—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You needed help.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean yanks his wrist away. “And you thought goading me into raping you was helping?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam shakes his head. “You didn’t rape me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hurt you. Jesus, Sam, I almost fucked you with nothing but spit. I could have—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you didn’t,” Sam says firmly. “When I stopped you, told you to use lube, you did. Yeah, it was rougher than we usually get, but you didn’t do anything I didn’t let you do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rougher than we usually get,” Dean barks with a sound that is halfway between a laugh and sob. “You have my handprint around your throat. I could have killed you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You were too close to the edge. Next time—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Next time?” Dean steps back and knocks Sam’s hand away when he reaches for him. “There’s not going to be a fucking next time. From now on, you’re going to stay away from me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” Sam stands and blocks Dean’s exit before he can leave the room. “No, I’m not. I’ve been trying to let you handle it, but it’s getting too dangerous for you to hunt. If you need to take the edge off, you’ll do it right here with me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t risk you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please, Dean. Let’s at least try. You’ve been pushing everyone away. Me, Cas. Maybe that’s the problem. You’re losing yourself to the Mark because you refuse to let us tether you.” It’s so clear to Sam that Dean wants to give in, but getting through to Dean has always been a crapshoot. What is likely to convince him is just as likely to drive him away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean buries his face in both hands and wipes his eyes. “I don’t know what I’d do if I really hurt you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seeing the opening, Sam reaches for him, pulls him in, and kisses him gently. “I won’t let you. If it really came to that, I’d stop you. But I don’t think it will.” He presses another kiss to Dean’s lips when he doesn’t try to pull away. “I’m going to move into your room, and when you feel the slightest twinge from the Mark, you’ll use me—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not going to use you,” Dean protests, trying to pull away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam tightens his hold. “The slightest twinge, Dean. You feel even a little bit out of sorts, you tell me. I’ll get on my knees for you in a heartbeat.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sam.” Dean’s eyes glisten with moisture, but he stops fighting Sam’s hold.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean it. If it helps you, I can take a little pain.” He nuzzles Dean’s neck. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll even get to like it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean shudders. “None of this,” he says, brushing his fingertips over Sam’s neck. “I gotta trust that if I go too far, you’ll put me down.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll stop you,” Sam allows. He’d been freaked out enough by not being able to breathe to agree to that condition.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“By any means necessary.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam swallows hard. “If it comes to that, yes.” He wraps one hand around Dean’s arm and raises it to his mouth. Dean flinches when Sam presses his lips to the angry red Mark and makes a low wounded sound in his throat. Sam lowers his arm and kisses Dean again, lingering longer this time. “But it won’t. I know it won’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean studies him for a long time before nodding. He tilts his head toward the bed. “It’s almost morning, but can we sleep for a while?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course.” Sam pulls him toward the bed and they both pull off their hoodies. Dean throws them on the chair in the corner before crawling under the covers with Sam. Sam curls into him, ignoring the twinges of pain still evident throughout his body. Neverending fear casts a shroud over Sam’s heart, but he’s nowhere near giving up on his brother. Not even close. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Trigger Warning: Dean is very violent toward Sam. Dean engages in very violent sex with Sam and although Sam was willing, Dean feels like he raped Sam.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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